


Family Vacation

by glymr, iesika



Series: Kings Among Runaways [23]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you really think she's going to let me go?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a new arc of "Kings Among Runaways". Updates may be slow, but we are working on this again!

They're in Bruce's private jet - though not one of the the _private_ private jets... This one's got a big WE logo painted on the side. The cabin is probably meant for about fifteen, but there's only the two of them in it. Jason's beside him despite all the empty seats, trying to pretend like he's asleep. Tim takes his hand - gently enough that he can preserve the illusion if he wants.

It's Jason's first time in an airplane. Tim had thought Jason was going to vomit, when they'd first lifted off, but wonder had taken over by the time they got far enough up to stop seeing individual people on the ground. Jason had been thoroughly bored by the time they crossed the Mississippi.

It could be a metaphor, really. Bruce's intervention in their lives, bringing them to the manor... Jason had been positively sick with fear. He'd tried to hide it, of course. He always does, when he's afraid. Tim's not sure if that's a holdover from his life on the street or something deeper about Jason, but it makes him lash out at things that frighten him.

Sometimes that means Tim. But...he thinks they're mostly over that now. They're past the moment of liftoff, and Jason isn't just letting Tim hold his hand so that Jason can quietly steady himself. Jason's never really going to be _sappy_ , but... He's sweet.

Even when he was fighting for their lives every day, protecting them both behind a shield of bravado and the threat of violence... he's always been sweet. Sweet to Tulio, sweet to Rosa, and even sweet to Tim. _So_ sweet to Tim, now that he's stopped fighting their attraction. As long as no one else is looking. Tim smirks down at him and bends his head to kiss him on the cheek.

Jason's face twitches slightly, and his breath hitches, but he doesn't open his eyes. Maybe he really is asleep then. Tim carefully disengages their hands and leaves their little couch, headed for the galley.

It feels strange to be walking freely about the small aircraft, even though Bruce's piloting is so smooth that they might as well be parked on the runway. Tim had flown a few times with his parents, always first class, or business at the worst. Still, this absolute freedom... Tim could do a cartwheel in the wide aisle if he felt like it. He could go sit in the cockpit. Bruce would probably show him the controls, maybe let him play copilot. It would give him something to focus on that wasn't the looming specter of the American Midwest.

Alfred is making coffee when Tim steps into the small galley. He always seems to read Tim's mind, anticipate his cravings. Sometimes he wonders if the old man is a telepath. There are weirder things out there. Tim needs to get used to factoring for them. "That smells amazing."

"Of the many benefits of avoiding commercial flight," Alfred says as he pushes down on the plunger of a small French press. "...avoiding commercial coffee is not the least." He pours the coffee into three cups, drops two spoonfuls of sugar into one, stirs it, and hands it to Tim.

Heaven in a cup. There was a time, not too long ago, when Tim would sometimes walk half a mile from their squat for the free coffee in the lobby of a branch bank. Alfred's coffee doesn't belong on the same planet as that memory. Tim blows on it, too hot to drink, and just breathes in the smell of it. "Thanks, Alfred."

"My pleasure, sir." When Alfred says things like that, he always sounds like he really means it. Unless he sounds like he's laying into Bruce for bad behavior. Tim can't help smiling, despite his nerves. The china cup, warm in his hands, is a comfort. Alfred's smiling eyes are even more so.

They stand there companionably waiting for their coffee to cool. Alfred spoons sugar into the third cup, tops it up with milk... Bruce and Jason, somewhat ironically, prefer their coffee the same way. Tim's not sure who the cup is for. "Do you really think she's going to let me go?"

The words spill out before Tim knows they're even in his mind. It's possible that's because he's been thinking of little else for several days now.

Alfred takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes closed in appreciation, or maybe thought. "I think," he says, setting the cup carefully aside, "that Master Bruce will assure that you have the best life possible, with the kind of care that you deserve."

Tim swallows. That was pretty politic, even for Alfred, but Tim thinks he can read the meaning under it.

If his mother wants him to stay...Bruce might think Tim _should_.

Well...crap.

Tim doesn't doubt for an instant that if he runs away again, Jason will come with him. They've come that far, at least. What he doesn't know is what will happen if Bruce _makes_ Tim stay with her. Would Jason stay with Bruce in Gotham? Would he bolt? Would he find a way to get to Kansas. Maybe...maybe Tim could make a condition to his cooperation - he won't run away again if Bruce sets Jason up with an apartment close to his mother's house? Gets him into Tim's school?

They've agreed that Jason won't be there when he meets his parents for the first time in most of a year. It would be hard to explain. She might blame the other boy, somehow, for getting Tim into trouble... no. Better to keep him clear of things until Tim knows what the outcome will be. If she won't give up custody, if she tries to press some kind of charges, better for her never to know Jason's role in things.

Tim almost certainly shouldn't tell her that he's homosexual.

"Master Timothy," Alfred says, interrupting his thoughts. When Tim looks up from the dark mirror of his coffee, the man's eyes are soft, understanding. "Perhaps you could take Master Bruce his coffee while I finish preparing lunch."

A distraction, just when he needs it most. An excuse to invade the cockpit. A reason to talk to Bruce.

Alfred probably _is_ telepathic.

"Sure," Tim says. What he means is 'thanks.' Alfred inclines his head as if he'd heard the word.

Jay is snoring slightly when Tim walks past. He pauses and sets the cups down while he finds a blanket to cover him with, and then he carries them up to the front of the plane, knocking with his toe at the base of the open door before slipping inside. Bruce looks up from the instrument panel as Tim enters, giving him - or perhaps the cups in his hands - a slight smile. "I thought I smelled coffee."

Tim slips into the copilot's seat and hands Bruce his cup. Apparently flying a plane does not require the use of hands, because Bruce sort of leans back in the seat and breathes in over the cup before taking a sip. Tim mirrors him, watching the stick move without guidance. "Autopilot?"

"Mn." Bruce agrees. He communes with his coffee for a little while. Tim sits there, staring out at the blue, blue sky, unsure what to say.

What finally comes out...he wishes he could take back.

"Not all parents are good parents." Tim doesn't turn his head, so he's not sure if Bruce is looking at him or not. He can feel his face heating, but he's already committed, so he plows on. "I know yours... I know it might be hard. To, um, put yourself in my place. And you probably think I'm...ungrateful, or something. I know...I know you must wish you could get yours back."

Bruce isn't saying a word. Not even one of those enigmatic humming sounds he likes so much, the ones that Tim's noticed himself starting to use. Which of course drives Jason absolutely crazy...

Tim...looks.

Bruce is watching him. A movement catches Tim's eye, and his eyes dart down to where the milky liquid in Bruce's cup...shakes. It's barely perceptible, and over quickly. Tim doesn't know what it means. He tries to read Bruce's face, but the man is like a wall. He's pretty much the expert at poker faces.

Until, suddenly, he isn't. Bruce's eyes go soft, and he shakes his head, his lips curling into a slight, rueful smile. "I'm aware that parents are fallible, Tim. I don't expect them all to be perfect. I know that yours haven't been."

Tim swallows. "But you want me to give them another chance."

"I want..." Bruce pauses and sips his coffee, dragging the motion out to give himself time to think, to phrase. "I want what's best for you."

A sudden flash of anger burns its way through him, and Tim has to set his cup aside so that he doesn't spill hot coffee on himself or crush the fragile china. "And you don't think I can judge that for myself."  It comes out bitter, hot, louder than he'd intended. "I've been taking care of myself just fine for months. I've been - I thought you were going to treat us like adults? You offered us _training_. You said we're almost ready to start working the streets. You- I don't understand! How you can say that, and do that, and still think I can't make this decision for myself?"

Bruce's eyes are steady on him, soft, still, but unreadable. He sits quietly until Tim's breathing calms, until Tim starts to feel queasy in the passing of that wave of sudden fury and hurt.

"On the contrary," Bruce finally says. He takes another interminable sip of coffee. "The purpose of this trip is to allow you to make that decision. You, Tim. Not the boy you were a year ago."

Tim blinks.  He feels his lips part.  "Oh."  He looks down, staring at the floor.

Bruce sets down his own coffee and reaches out to lay one big hand on Tim's shoulder.  Tim glances up at him.  Bruce opens his mouth as though to say something else, then closes it, smiling ruefully.  He gives Tim's shoulder a little squeeze and lets go.  "Why don't you go wake up Jason?  We'll be landing soon."

Tim nods and beats a hasty retreat.

Jason's yawning and blinking when Tim comes back through the door to the main cabin. 

"Hey," says Tim.  "Want some coffee?"

Jason stretches, arching back until his shirt rides up and his joints pop.  Tim watches, letting himself be obvious about it, earning a smirk.  "Nah, thanks.  I'm good."

Tim shakes his head.  "I don't know how anyone could say 'no' to Alfred's coffee."

Jason just grins and shrugs, scratching the back of his head and yawning again.  "That's - ah - more your thing than mine."

With a nod, Tim settles next to Jason on the couch.  "We'll be landing pretty soon.  We should probably fasten our seatbelts."  Jason's brows draw together, his shoulders tensing a little.  "Ah...I think you'll find landing even easier than taking off.  Especially with Bruce flying.  He's an excellent pilot."

Jason's expression turns thoughtful.  He glances at Tim, then gets up and crosses the cabin to settle into his seat and fasten his seatbelt.  Tim takes the seat next to him and fastens his own.

"You've flown a lot, huh?"  Jason's staring out the window. 

"Uh...a few times.  My parents used to travel all the time."  Tim's quiet for a moment.  Jason knows he ran away when his parents got divorced, but there's a lot Tim's never told him.  He takes a breath.  "Most of the time they left me at home.  It was...kind of a pattern.  They'd take a trip somewhere, for a month or two.  When they came back, they'd both be in a good mood, cheerful and pleased with themselves and each other.  After a week or so, though, they'd start fighting again.  After two weeks they would be sniping at each other constantly.  After about three weeks, they would leave on another trip, and...I was usually glad, by that point.  It was always kind of a relief."  He slides his eyes sideways.  Jason's not looking out the window anymore, but he's not looking at Tim, either.  He's staring straight ahead, frowning slightly.

"When I was twelve, they took a trip to Haiti."  Tim closes his eyes.  "They were kidnapped."

Jason jerks next to him.  "Holy shit!"

Swallowing, Tim goes on, "The police tried to track the ransom, but..." he shrugs.  "Nobody heard from my parents for about a month."

"So...you were all alone?"

"It wasn't really any different from what I was used to, except I didn't know if they would be coming back."

There's a long moment of quiet between them.  "And your parents...?"

Tim opens his eyes and focuses on the back of the seat in front of him.  "It took them a long time to make it back. By the time they did... their company was going under, partly because of the bad publicity, but mainly because that's where the ransom money came from.  Dad poured their personal savings into trying to save it but..." He shakes his head. "They lost everyth-" He stops himself and looks at Jason for a moment before correcting himself. "They lost a lot. No real income, and all their property got foreclosed on. Things got messy. My Mom..." he thinks back to her coming home late from a party, giggling and tipsy in her designer dress while Tim ate ramen noodles and went over his notes on the latest sightings of Batman and Robin. "I think she didn't want to admit it was all over."

Jason's quiet, listening. He's got a sort of...puzzled look on his face, like he can't quite understand the story, but Tim can tell he's trying. He forgets, sometimes, what different worlds they come from.

"They lost their jobs," Tim says in summary. "Lost all their money, went into debt. Mom found some guy who would buy her nice things." Jason grunts. That sort of thing is familiar at least, Tim supposes. "Dad pretended not to know about it, but he found a job in Europe and never said a word about mom coming with him. And then they split up, and I pawned the last of my camera equipment and took off. It didn't even seem like a hard choice, at the time - just something I had to do."

Jason looks serious. "You know that's not normal, right?" Tim's heart starts to flutter in worry, but Jason goes on. "They must have been terrible, if you wouldn't stay with them."

Tim shakes his head. "They weren't that bad. They never hit me, or anything. They never even yelled at me."

"Because they weren't there," Jason says. He squeezes Tim's hand, and there's a...hard sort of light in his eyes. It makes Tim swallow and look away.  "It's probably a good thing Bruce wants us to wait for you.  I'd hate to have to punch your mother in front of you."

Tim can't help the sharp laugh that bursts out of him. "Jason!" He swats him on the arm. Jason turns, grinning at him, and then his face goes rigid as the jet starts to descend more rapidly. Tim holds onto his hand. "Hey. I have an idea."

"What?" Jason says, and if Tim didn't know him so well, he probably wouldn't have heard the tension in his voice.

"Bruce is flying. Alfred's buckled up in the back." Tim leans a little closer. "Kiss me. Until we land. Just kiss me."

Jay takes a deep breath, looking at him with his eyes unguarded. He leans to close the distance between them, pressing his lips softly to Tim's.

It's another fifteen minutes before they land. Bruce takes them down so smoothly that it's not until Alfred clears his throat behind them that Tim realizes they're on the ground.

***

Tim would have expected to catch a taxi, or maybe to head for the rental car counter.  Instead, there's a car waiting for them on the tarmac.  Alfred just nods once at the driver, and the man steps away from the car and lets Alfred take his place, engine still running. Bruce puts his hand on Jason's shoulder to stop him from getting in until Alfred gets out of the car again and opens the door to the back for them. Tim's not sure if it's part of the Bruce Wayne act or just security procedure.

The ride is quiet, tense. Tim sits with his knees together, hands in his lap, staring down at the torn cuticle on his right thumb. Jason is next to him, shoulder against Tim's despite the wide back seat, which probably means he's not buckled in.  Tim's too grateful for the touch to lecture him, and anyway, the road is mostly empty.

They pass an occasional farmhouse or barn, most of them a little run down, some of them just abandoned. Occasionally they see a group of men working in the morning sun. Tim can't imagine his mother living here.  

The houses start to get closer together after a little while, and he realizes they've got to be approaching a small town. Tim feels sicker and sicker the bigger the houses get.  This was what his mom had talked about. Land was so cheap out here, she could have the house of her dreams, big enough to throw parties and fill with all her antiques. And there was Jeff's new job, of course.  

Tim can't even remember what his mother's boyfriend does for a living.

"Maybe I should go with you," Jason blurts into the silence. Tim is too surprised to say anything, but he turns to look at Jason, who is biting his lip and searching Tim's face. "Seriously, Tim, you don't... you don't have to do this by yourself."

"Jason," Bruce starts to say from the front seat, "we all discussed-" but Jason just talks over him.

"You don't have to do this at all. I still don't get why you couldn't just dye your hair or something, get some glasses-"

Tim cuts him off with a hand on his arm. "I'll be fine." When he says it, it starts to become true.  It's more important to reassure Jason right now than it is to fall apart quietly in his seat from an overdose of nervous tension. "We're going to end up on the news or something eventually. People are going to take our picture. We're going to start school. Bruce has people working for him that used to work for my parents. Wayne Enterprises pretty much ate the R&D department. Someone would recognize me sooner or later."

"Superman puts on a pair of glasses and nobody knows who _he_ is," Jason argues.

"There's a change of context," Bruce says. "Clark Kent is a reporter, with a relatively unknown face.  Tim would be going from one prominent Gotham business family to another. That makes it much harder to hide in plain sight."

"I still think you could have done something!" Jason insists. "You're good at disguises and things.  You could make him a new name and everything-"

Tim squeezes Jason's shoulder and turns to him, putting his other hand on Jason's thigh. "It doesn't matter. I need to do this. I have to. If I keep hiding, running away, I'll be hiding forever." He realizes the truth of what he's saying even as he hears his voice shaping the words. "I've been worrying every day that they'd find me and make me go back.  And if I get found out now, Bruce will be in a lot of trouble. They might even charge him with kidnapping. It would be way more attention than he needs."

"Fuck that," Jason snaps. "He loves attention."

"-the wrong _kind_ of attention, then."

He hears Bruce laughing, and turns to the front, to see Bruce watching him in the mirror. "Tim," he says his smile fading. "Don't worry about me. Jason's right. If you don't want to do this, we'll find a way to deal with it."

Tim stops to think, looking up periodically at Bruce's eyes reflected in the mirror, over to Jason frowning beside him. "No," he says. "No, I need to do this.  I need to see them. To say goodbye, if nothing else."

"I could still go with you," Jason says, sullenly.

"Then who would help me with the bags?" Alfred pipes up suddenly.  He's been so quiet that Tim had almost forgotten he was present, even though he was driving the car.  "Master Jason, I am very, very old. Surely you won't leave me to haul your suitcases up the stairs on my own."  

"You got them in the car just fine, you manipulative old-"

"Jason!" Tim says, scandalized, but he can't help smiling. In the mirror, Bruce's eyes are sparkling.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred says primly.

***

The house is...well, it’s huge, of course.  But more than that, it’s _ostentatious_.  Which isn’t actually a surprise, Tim supposes.  

He can feel Jason tensing beside him.  The other boy leans across him to peer out the window, tilting his head back to stare up at the house.  

Tim tenses, too.  In Jason’s world, people that came from houses like this were either the enemy, or someone to be taken advantage of...or both.  They still are, in many ways, for all he’s living in a mansion himself these days.

Tim knows that Jason doesn’t class Tim in with the...the kids born “with silver spoons up their asses”.  It doesn’t change the fact that Tim *was* one of those kids.

Jason draws back and wraps his hand around Tim’s, squeezing it.  

Tim takes a breath and makes himself relax.  “It will be all right,” he says, answering the unspoken question in Jason’s eyes.  He leans forward and kisses Jason, quick and light and daring, then lets go of his hand and opens the door before Jason can react.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he hears Jason say just before the heavy door closes, its mirrored windows cutting them off from each other and leaving him facing his own reflection.

 _I know,_ Tim thinks.  

He walks up to the door - it’s a huge, double door in an ornate style, and pushes the doorbell, Bruce a reassuring presence at his side.

A distant chime rings out.  Moments later, a woman Tim doesn’t recognize answers the door.  She nods and gives them a small smile.  “Just through here, please,” she says politely, escorting the two of them through the wide front hall and across the marble floor.  There’s no sound but the quiet tapping of their shoes as she leads them to a large wooden door and swings it open, gesturing for them to precede her inside.  

Tim steps into the room, his feet suddenly sinking into the soft pile of the carpet.  The room is a study - his mom’s study, he decides.  He recognizes some of the pieces on the desk and shelves.

Also, his mom is sitting behind the dark wooden desk.

“Tim.”  She rises and comes over to him.  She puts her hands on his shoulders and looks down at him for a long moment.  He forces himself to look back, to meet her eyes steadily.  After perhaps ten seconds of this, she pulls him against her in a hug.  

Tim stiffens, unsure.  She smells like her favorite perfume, and the cold metal of her necklace presses against his skin.  “Thank goodness you’re all right,” she says, and then, “How can we ever thank you?”  She releases Tim and turns away, all her attention now focused on Bruce Wayne.  Tim takes a step back as Bruce steps forward, shaking his head.

"It was the least I could do, Janet."   

A voice to his left calls his name quietly, and Tim looks up to see another occupant of the room, one he hadn’t noticed before.  If this were a test of his observation skills, Tim thinks distantly, he would have failed.

His dad comes forward, and then Tim’s being hugged again.  He hardly has time to register the impression of his father’s suit before he’s let go, his dad looking down at him seriously.  “ _Are_ you all right, son?”

Tim swallows.  He manages a nod, and a relatively normal-sounding, “I’m fine, dad.”

His dad sighs.  “What made you pull such a stunt, Tim?”

Tim looks at the floor.  “I’m sorry.”

He’s not.  

He's been in the same room with his parents for all of a minute and he's already back to keeping secrets.

“Well, it’s over now.  You can come home.”  Tim glances up at that.  His father isn’t looking at him anymore, he’s frowning a little and looking at the wall.  “My flat is pretty small, but I’m sure I can find something-”

“What are you talking about?” his mom cuts in.  “Tim’s going to live here, with us.”

His father looks across at his mother.  “What?  You can’t be serious.”

His mom’s eyes narrow.  “And why not?”

“Janet, if he’d wanted to live with you, he would have come with you in the first place.”  His dad’s voice is almost pleading.

“Well, he’ll want to now,” says Janet coldly.  “We’re going to _California_ next week.  And the week after that-” she hesitates for a moment, then goes on, “South America!  He always wanted to come with us on our trips, and now he’s old enough to take care of himself-” she smiles down at Tim, “unless of course he _wants_ to stay in the house on his own.  We can put in a darkroom for him.  And I know when _I_ was a teenager-”

Jack looks at Tim a little helplessly.  “But wouldn’t you rather come to Europe with me?” he says.  “I know you don’t know the language, but-”

“Jack!”  Her tone is annoyed.  

It’s all so familiar, and at the same time, utterly surreal.  

“Coffee, anyone?”  The door swings open and a man comes in carrying a tray laden with a pot, cups and a tray of expensive cookies.  He’s tall and blonde and good-looking in a movie-star kind of way.  Tim only met him a few times before... before.  

“Jeff!”  Janet’s voice is still exasperated, but now there’s a warmth to the tone.  “I keep telling you to leave that kind of thing to the maid.”

“And I keep telling you,” he says, putting down the tray and sliding an arm around her waist to casually kiss her on the cheek, “that we don’t need a maid.  We’re hardly ever even here-”  

“You knew I liked to travel when you married me-”

“Married?”  The word is out of Tim’s mouth before he can stop himself, and then he wishes he could take it back as all their eyes turn to him.  “You’re...”  He looks over at Bruce.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” says Bruce, his voice subdued.

"No, I - " It shouldn't be such a shock.  His mother had been with Jeff for... well, he isn't sure how long.  Probably at least a year and a half? They'd been living together for nine months or so. There's really only one thought in his mind, now, and it comes out before he can stop it. "When? I talked to you in November, and you never mentioned..."

He knows his mother. He knows she and Jeff didn't have a whirlwind weekend in Vegas.  She had probably started planning the wedding before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, and she'd never even once mentioned it to Tim.

"Valentines Day," Jeff says with a warm smile down at his new wife.  Tim has to remind himself that it would be wrong to label the man as an idiot just because he's missing some of the undercurrents here. His mom must be feeling it, though, because she's watching Tim now instead of looking up at her new husband.

Can't let a little thing like a missing son ruin all that planning.  They'd probably already paid the caterers.

"I was going to ask you to give me away," his mom says softly. "Before-"

"Before you noticed I was gone," Tim says.  How like his mom, to plan on Tim’s presence at her wedding but not actually bother to discuss it with him.  He shakes his head, turning to look at Bruce. Something tightens just slightly at the corner of the man's eyes. It's that more than anything else that makes him realize he's made the decision he needed to, today.

Jack’s voice is harsh.  “So you’re planning on dragging Tim with you on your extended honeymoon all over the world?”

Janet raises an eyebrow at him and leans into Jeff’s side.  “As if you didn’t have that pretty little French girl-”

His dad’s face turns a dull red.  “She’s hardly a girl, she’s older than you!”

“Well _thank you_ for the compliment-”

“She’s a Professor of-”

“I’m sure she’s _very_ accomplished-”

“At least I waited until the papers were signed!”

“So!” Jeff’s voice cuts through the bitter words.  “It's good to see you again, Tim.”  He steps forward and holds out his hand.  A sudden silence envelopes the room as Tim’s parents very obviously remember that he’s there.

Tim shrinks in on himself a little more, then makes himself meet the man’s eyes and shake his hand.  

“I know we’ve met before," Jeff says, "but that was awhile ago.”  He gives Tim a small wink.  “You want to go out back and toss the ball around, get to know each other a little while we let these two fight things out?”

Tim blinks.  It takes him a minute to realize that the man is giving him an out.  “I-” he says, then stops.  The instinct to escape, to flee, is strong.  “Thanks,” he says, and means it, “but I’d better wait until they figure out who should get me.”  His mom will probably win.  She almost always did.  On the other hand, once in awhile his father would be stubborn and dig his heels in-

“Well, which one do you want to live with?” Jeff asks, his tone reasonable.

The question catches him off guard.  He looks up at the other man, startled.  “What?”

“Which one do you want to live with?  With your dad in Europe, or with your mom and me?”

This is it.  Tim looks up at him and takes a breath.  “I...Neither.  I want to go back to Gotham.”

The room goes silent.

“I - I have friends there.  People I care about.  People that...care about me.  Gotham is...my home.”

The words sound thin in the silence.  It goes on for another several moments.  Tim holds Jeff’s eyes, not daring to look at his parents’ faces.  Jeff looks surprised.

“Absolutely not.”  His father’s voice is angry.  “You’re our son, Tim.  We love you.  You can’t just-”

“Your father’s right,” his mom cuts in.  “As much as we appreciate Mr. Wayne taking you in-”

“Mom-”

“You need to come home, Tim.  You’re our responsibility.  You-”

“Dad-”

The last time he remembers them fighting like this - one of the very last times they’d fought, as far as he knows - they were arguing about who would HAVE to take him.  Tim gulps back the hysterical laughter that wants to rise to his lips and looks at the floor.

“Tim.”  Bruce’s voice is gentle.  “Why don’t you wait for me in the car?  I have a few things to discuss with your parents.”

“Or I can give you a tour of the place,” adds Jeff.  He leans forward and adds in a stage whisper.  “We can get into your mom’s stash of Ben and Jerry’s.  I won’t tell if you won’t.”  His breath smells like onions.

“I...”  Tim looks at Bruce.  “Thanks, but I think I’d rather wait in the car.”  He turns away from them, from his mom and his dad and Jeff.  Bruce follows him to the door of the study and opens it for him.  For a brief moment, his hand is on Tim’s shoulder, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs.  It’s all done with such swift grace that Tim’s a little in awe.  The other three people didn’t even notice.

Tim stares up at him and Bruce gives him a small smile before shutting the door and leaving Tim standing alone in the huge, empty hallway.

He really needs to see Jason, right now.

* * *

Waiting sucks.  

Jason fidgets around the back of the car for awhile, until Alfred hands him a book of puzzles and a pencil.  Crossword puzzles, sudoku, and word finds.  Jason looks down at the book, then back at Alfred before accepting it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“My pleasure,” says Alfred, and pulls out another book.  

It’s hard to concentrate on the puzzles, maybe because he keeps glancing up to look at the house.  He leaves the first crossword unfinished.  Tim will know the answers to the ones he doesn’t.  

He’s halfway through the sudoku on the next page when the huge door swings open and Tim wanders out, head down and hands in his pockets.  The locks pop up as he puts his hand on the door handle.

“Hey,” says Jason. Tim slides into the seat next to him and Jason wraps one arm around him, pulling him close for a long moment before leaning back and looking carefully at him.  

Tim’s shoulders are hunched.  He’s curled in on himself in a way that Jason hasn’t seen since the first few weeks, and his face - what Jason can see of it - is pale.

Jason pulls him close again.

Tim doesn’t say anything for maybe a minute.  Jason doesn’t speak either, just watches the digital car clock, the two dots that separate the hours and minutes flashing with each passing second.  

“They were fighting over me,” says Tim, breaking the silence.

“Oh,” says Jason.  He’s not sure what to say to that.  If they’re fighting over Tim, maybe his parents actually want him around.  

“Like a favorite toy.”  Tim adds, his words flat and quiet.  

Jason feels his heart clench.  He really, really wants to go in there and scream at Tim’s parents.  He tightens his arm around Tim’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he says.  “Let’s go for a walk.”  Tim looks up at him, startled.  “Let’s just take off.  Alfred can come and pick us up, right, Alfred?”

“Of course.”

Tim blinks a little.  “I...I guess.  Bruce stayed in there to talk to them.”

Alfred clears his throat.  “Your backpacks are in the trunk, young sirs.”

“Backpacks?”  What backpacks?” says Jason blankly.  He looks over at Tim, surprising a small smile on the other boy’s face.

“We’ll bring them, Alfred,” says Tim, and slips out of the car.  Jason glances at the back of the man’s head, then follows him.

* * *

Bruce waits until he hears the front door close before pasting on a sunny smile and turning back to the other people in the room.  "Well, it sounds like Tim's made up his mind, doesn't it?"

"This isn't up to Tim to decide," Jack says. His face is very pink.  Janet's, on the other hand, is pale.  Bruce lets his smile sharpen a little when he turns to her, and watches her sit back an inch or two further in her chair. Good.

"We're his parents," Janet says. "He belongs with us. Well, one of us." She looks to Jack and reluctantly adds, "He can visit the other."

"Tim doesn't seem to think so."

"Tim doesn't know what's best for him," Jack says. "If he wanted ice cream for dinner every night he couldn't have that either. He's a child."

"Not anymore," Bruce says blithely. He sweeps into the center of the room and sets his briefcase on the desk in front of Janet. "Tim's been fending for himself for rather a while, you know. He's such a responsible boy-"

"Responsible boys don't run away from home," Janet snaps.

Bruce laughs, hollow and smarmy. "Oh I don't know.  I ran away a few times, and I think I've turned out okay.  Then again, my parents weren't around to notice I was gone, either.  Ha ha."

There's utter silence in the room. Janet's eyes are narrowed, but Jack's are wide, now.  Bruce opens the briefcase.

"I've taken the liberty of having my legal department draw up some papers. I haven't got much of a head for this kind of thing, but the way I understand it, emancipating the boy could get you out of quite the pickle.  Otherwise, someone might press charges of neglect and abandonment." He looks to Jeff and adds, "I think people go to jail for that, sometimes, don't they? Hey, does that phone have speakers? I bet one of my lawyers would know. We could conference them in."

Janet looks at him for a long moment in silence, then reaches for the papers and pulls them toward her and starts to read.

"This is outrageous," Jack says. "You can't just come in here and start making demands-"

"Demands?" Bruce looks at him, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm just trying to help you out, Jack.  After all, Tim's made it clear he doesn't want to live with either of you. He's already proven himself able and willing to just disappear off the face of the Earth.  You wouldn't want the police showing up wondering where he's gone, would you?"

Jeff is leaning over Janet's shoulder, looking at the paperwork. "What is this? Honey..."

"Blackmail," Janet mutters, then looks up at him. Jack goes still at the word.

"That's such an ugly word," Bruce says, and smiles. "Do you need a pen?"

* * *

“So, what’s in these things?” asks Jason after about two miles of walking in silence.  He shrugs his shoulders to indicate his blue backpack.  

Tim tugs at the strap of his own backpack - red - and shrugs.  “I didn’t look inside them.  How should I know?” he says, but he smiles a little as he says it.  

Tim’s shoulders had been slumped, miserable when he’d come out of the house.  When he’d lifted the pack out of the trunk and settled it on his back, though, his spine had straightened, the angle of his chin suddenly proud.  

Jason has his suspicions, but decides to play dumb instead, just to see how long he can keep that smirk on on Tim’s face.  “Did Alfred pack us a picnic or something?”

Tim raises an eyebrow at him.  “You could always just open it and see, you know.”

“And ruin the surprise?”  Jason looks at him, wide-eyed.  “I couldn’t do that!”

Tim’s smirk widens into a grin, and he bumps Jason with his shoulder.

“I won’t tell if-” He’s cut off by a loud sound from ahead of them.  There’s a shriek of tires, then a crashing grind of metal.  The two of them look at each other, frozen for a moment, then as one, they start to run.  

It’s not far, maybe half a mile further.  As they round a curve, they see it: a pickup truck on its side, its cargo of metal containers spilling into the road.  Jason starts forward, but Tim grabs his arm.  

“Uniforms,” he hisses, drawing Jason back around the bend.  

“But-”

“No time,” says Tim, pulling off his backpack and starting to suit up.  “They’re fire-retardant and they have our equipment - some of it anyway-”  He yanks up the tights, and Jason hurries to catch up.

In under a minute they’re in full costume ( _uniform_ , Tim would correct him) and running toward the accident.  

It’s bad.  The truck tipped over on the driver’s side, and there’s no one in sight, meaning that the driver must be _inside_ still.  Jason gets there first and climbs up, pulling open the passenger side door and reaching down into the cab.  

There’s blood on the driver’s head.  It’s a woman, maybe in her forties.  “Hey!” says Jason.  “Hey!  Can you hear me?”  He reaches out and grabs her wrist, feeling for a pulse.

It’s there, fluttering under his fingers.  Jason has to swallow hard before he can speak again.  “Wake up, lady!  You’ve gotta get out of here!” He can smell something hot, like metal and asphalt and rubber...and fuel.  

“We shouldn’t move her if we can avoid it.”  Tim’s voice comes from above him - he’s holding open the door, looking down at them from the side of the truck.  

“We _gotta_ move her, though,” says Jason.

Tim’s head disappears for a few moments, then he pokes it back in and says, “Agreed.  I called B and the fire department, but there's fuel everywhere and...”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t have to.   _They might not get here in time_ , thinks Jason.

First he reaches over and takes the key out of the ignition.  The woman’s seatbelt is on, but Jason has tools in his belt he can use to cut her free.  When he climbs in to cut her free, though, he realizes her leg is stuck - jammed into the twisted metal of the side of the cab.

“Fuck,” mutters Jason.  “Fuck!”  He tugs harder, but there’s no way he’s getting her out of there.  He grits his teeth in frustration, then looks up at Tim.  “I can’t get her out!  Have we got a - a Bat-crowbar or something?”  

Tim’s face is in shadow, the light behind him, but Jason can see him clearly enough to know he’s biting his lip.  “N-no...nothing like that, I don’t think...”

Jason turns back and gives the woman another tug, but she’s wedged in there impossibly tight.  “Hey lady!” Jason shouts, “You got a crowbar or something?”

She groans and stirs, eyelids fluttering, then slumps again.  Jason balls his hands into fists in frustration.  

“Fuck!” he says again.  Tim’s head is gone when he looks up, so Jason clambers up out of the cab.  “What are we gonna do?”  It might be only a matter of time until a spark catches, and then... “She’ll be _trapped_.”

Another pick-up pulls up behind them and an older man gets out, hurrying over and frowning as he takes in the situation.  He looks at the spilled supplies the woman was carrying and says sharply, “You boys get back from there!”

“The driver - we can’t get her out!” says Jason.  “Have you got something, a crowbar or something, anything, _please_!”

“Get _back_ ,” says the man again.  “That's fertilizer - ammonium nitrate.”

Jason hears Tim catch his breath, then feels Tim’s hand around his wrist, yanking him away.  

“But - but the _driver_!” says Jason desperately.  “We’ve gotta help her!”

“You see if you can find something to give us some leverage,” says Tim, face pale and set.  “I’ll see if I can get her out.”  He pushes Jason toward the man and turns back to the overturned truck.

“Are you _deaf?_ ”  The man’s voice is harsh, commanding.  “That stuff could explode any second.  You boys get _away_ from there!”

Jason freezes.  “Explode?”  He jumps forward, grabbing Tim and dragging him back.  “ Ti- Robin!”

Tim tries to twist out of his grasp.  “There must be _something_ -”

“Let me do it-”

“Jay, no!”

“Both of you boys-”

Tim goes still, eyes wide.  “ _Bluejay_ -” he says, then Jason sees it, too.

Someone...lands next to the truck.  

“Superboy!” says the man, relief in his voice.  “Thank goodness you’re here.”

The boy looks _ridiculous_ in brightly colored spandex and way too many belts, but Jason doesn’t care, because maybe he can do something to _help_.

“The driver, she’s trapped-” he starts, but Tim steps forward, putting a hand on his arm.  

“The cargo’s potentially explosive,” he says quickly.  “You’ll need to get the driver out without doing anything that might make a spark, like ripping the door off.”

The...kid peers at them over his sunglasses (sunglasses?) and smirks.  “No problemo!”  Turning, he puts his hands on the cab.  “I’ve got this.  With my TTK-” Jason watches in shock as the truck starts to come apart, to *dismantle*, each piece separating from each other, “-that’s short for Tactile Telekinesis - I can manipulate things just by touching them.”  Jason watches in awe as the car seat separates from the rest, the cab opening around it almost like a flower or something.  The kid flashes them a grin, then flies over to them, one hand casually on the seat as he pushes it to where they’re standing, then lowers it gently to the ground, the woman still on her back.  Tim immediately crouches beside her and starts checking her for injuries.

“Superboy,” says the man.

“Yeah?” the kid looks at the man and then at the two of them, then at the man again.

“Good job, son,” says the man, then goes on, “Can you get the truck’s cargo out of here?”

“Sure!  Where to?”

The man thinks for a moment.  “There’s an old quarry about two miles East of here-” he starts.

“Got it!”  The kid darts forward and puts one hand on the truck bed, the other on the ground.  As they watch, the containers lift into the air.  One of them is trailing white crystals from a crack in the side.  “Oops!” says the kid, and the stream seems to freeze in mid-air, then trickle back into the container.

“Be careful with that, son.”

“You got it Unc- er.  Sir.”  

The three of them watch as he drifts up, then away across the fields in the opposite direction from the setting sun.  

Then the man turns to the two of them and smiles.  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, as casually as though they’re not wearing masks, capes and tights.  “My name’s Jonathan,” he adds, and holds out his hand.

* * *

They'd been so helpless. If Superboy hadn't shown up when he did, Tim's not sure what they would have done.  If Jason hadn't been there, Tim would have kept trying - tried _something_ \- but once Jason knew the truck was effectively loaded with explosives, there was no way he'd have let Tim back in there. Then again, Tim would have stopped Jason from doing the same.

It's a shocking thought - a sobering one.  They haven't even had a true debut in Gotham yet, and they could have let a woman die on their first trip out.  That's not something he ever thought of much when he was playing at being Robin in a bathtowel and his dad's green socks.  

He's got top-notch first-aid training at least. If things don't work out with the superhero thing, maybe he'll be a paramedic.

"No, don't move," he tells the woman, grateful to see Jason moving into place on her other side, pressing a bandage over her leg and and helping to keep her still.  "You lost consciousness. You need to be very careful."

"Who _are_ you?" The woman asks.

"I'm Robin," he says, and it feels good even through his doubts. "This is Bluejay.  We're here to help you.  Can you tell me your name?"

"Lady!" Jason interrupts as the woman tries to move again. "If you don't wanna be stuck in a wheelchair for longer than it takes that leg to heal, stop squirming."

Tim's been practicing his "Robin voice" in the mirror whenever he's been alone, working at it for weeks, until he thought he finally had it right. Jason -

Jason sounds like he's scolding Tulio.  It's surprisingly effective at getting the woman to actually lie still while Tim stops the bleeding at her hairline and checks how her eyes are tracking.

He _feels_ Bruce's - Batman's - presence before he looks up. Maybe he heard the shift of his heavy cape, or subconsciously noted the change in the light due to Batman's broad shadow. He looks incredibly out of place on a sunny country lane.

"Ambulance is on its way," the old man - Jonathan - says before Tim can get words into his mouth. "It'll be another ten minutes, though.  I've got some lumber and canvas straps in the truck that'll do for a backboard and a splint, in a pinch.”

Batman...smirks. "Of course you do."

Jason helps Jonathan grab the boards, and they get the driver properly immobilized.  Batman checks her over again, then nods at Tim and Jason, which is when Tim realizes just how tightly he's been holding himself and finally lets his shoulders drop.

"The missus'll be pulling out a meatloaf for lunch in a little bit, if you boys are hungry," Jonathan says while they're all bent over together with their heads close.  "What on Earth are you in town for, anyway? Not that you're not welcome anytime, but it's been a while."

Jason shoots Tim an incredulous look that Tim is helpless to do anything but return.

"Personal business," Batman says. And then, "Meatloaf sounds lovely."

"I'll let her know to do up some extra potatoes, then. Oh-" the sound of a siren swells in the distance. "That'll be the sheriff. See you at one?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Batman says, and gives the signal to scatter and reconvene at base.

* * *

They’ve barely gathered their backpacks when the car slides up to them, the doors swinging open as it comes to a smooth stop.  They jump inside and Bruce joins them moments later.

“Good work,” he says, and Tim frowns.  He opens his mouth to object, but Bruce goes on, “Alfred, we ran into Jonathan.  He invited us for lunch.”

There’s a pause, then Alfred says, “I’m afraid I will have to decline the invitation, Master Bruce, if you want these papers filed by day’s end.”  Tim’s stomach drops as he suddenly remembers why they came to Kansas in the first place.

Bruce actually hesitates for a moment, frowning, then says, “I’m sorry, Alfred, but the sooner they’re filed, the better.  As much as I hate to deprive you of Martha’s meatloaf.”

Alfred heaves a sigh with what sounds like genuine regret.  “As you say, sir.  I will drop the three of you off and then drive to Keystone and-”

"What's in Keystone?" Jason asks.

"A friend," Bruce says, and smiles slightly. "Someone who can get the papers back to my lawyers in time for filing with the court."

"I'll need to notarize your signature in a few places before I go, Master Tim."

“...of course you're a notary.  The papers - they’re about me?”

Bruce nods.  “A petition for emancipation,” he says simply.  “I want your parents' stipulation filed before your mother has a chance to discuss the matter with her lawyer.”

For several long seconds, Tim can’t speak.  He’s certain the man must be joking, but he can’t fathom _why_.  As he stares at Bruce and Bruce stares back and it starts to sink in that the man is serious, Tim stammers, “Y-you convinced my mother to emancipate me?   _How?_ ”

Bruce smiles then, a small, dangerous smile.  “I told her and your father that, if they didn’t, they would be in a position to be tried for neglect.”  

“But-”  Tim shakes his head.  “You mean, because of the times they went on trips?  I wasn’t alone in the house, Mrs. Mac-”

“You were living on your own for months,” says Bruce gently.  “That alone would be enough to convict them.”

“But,” Tim says again, some part of him wondering why he’s so intent on defending them, “that wasn’t their fault.  I tricked them, made my mom think I was staying with my dad and my dad think-” he stops, because Bruce is shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter.  It would be very difficult for them to spin this in a favorable light.  They moved away from Gotham and left you behind.  That's a lot easier to prove than the nature and extent of your deceit.  And you're still a minor - until we get a judge's signature.  Good thing I've been so politically active lately, haha.”

Jason snorts at the 'Brucie' voice, but Tim just swallows, leaning back in his seat, staring at nothing.  “She’ll fight.  She _hates_ being thwarted.”

“She’ll lose,” says Bruce with unshakable certainty.

“Checkmate.  Oh god.”  Tim closes his eyes.  “She’ll never speak to me again.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  Silence descends on the car, making Tim open his eyes.  Bruce is staring at him with concern.  “They’re not filed yet,” he says.  “We don’t have to-”

“No!  No, I- This is good.  This is.”  Tim stops and takes a breath.  If they could have somehow made his mom think it was her idea- but things are already in motion, they can’t be changed now.  It’s done.  And it’s probably for the best.  His mom won’t be able to take him away, won’t be able to make him do anything he doesn’t want to...actually, she probably won’t want anything to do with him.  “This is good,” he says again.  “I'll sign the papers.”

“I doubt she’ll want to cut ties with you completely,” says Bruce, his tone mild, “as long as you continue to associate with me.”

Tim feels his mouth fall open.  It’s true.  There’s no way his mom will sacrifice a potential connection with one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, no matter what her personal feelings may be.  Once the situation of Tim’s status is settled, once she calms down and sees that it’s useless to fight, she’ll undoubtedly try to make nice.

“Besides which, I’m sure your father will be eager to have you visit any time you like.”

Tim looks down, hiding a grimace.  It’s not that he doesn’t love his father - he does.  It’s just that, he never knows what to say to him, and it invariably ends up unbearable and awkward.  “Yeah, I guess he will,” says Tim.  He feels bad - Bruce has gone to all this work, gotten him everything he could have asked for, and somehow Tim still feels oddly unhappy.  “I can’t thank you enough,” he says.  “You didn’t have to do this for me.  I’m grateful.  I-”

There’s an arm slung about his shoulders, and he’s pulled against Jason’s broad chest.  “How is it,” says the older boy, “That you ended up so great with parents like _that_?”

He wants to object, to say that he’s not great, he’s not anything, but instead he finds himself saying, “It wasn’t always so bad.”  He presses against Jason, feeling his strength and warmth.  “My mom wasn’t always so,” he closes his eyes again, “so selfish.  My dad wasn’t always so, I don’t know.  Oblivious, I guess.  They...when I was younger, things were better.  When I started getting older and the business started taking off, they went away on more and more trips.  Like I was telling you earlier, when they came home, they would get increasingly snappish and miserable.  Things would get worse and worse.  I used to think.”  He swallows.  “I used to think it was me.”  Jason’s arm tightens even more.  “It wasn’t until recently that I realized that they spent most of those trips apart.  My father would go to whatever archeological dig he was working on, while my mother would handle the meetings and contracts and business dealings for the company.  It wasn’t until they came home again that they would have to spend time together, and then they’d start fighting again.  They really just didn’t belong together.  My mom seems happier with Jeff.  It’s probably a good thing they got married-”  Even if Tim didn’t figure into her plans as more than a prop.  Suddenly he wonders who _did_ give her away, since Tim had been “unavailable”.

Tim opens his eyes to see Bruce unclasping his cowl and pulling it over his head.  When it’s off, he sets it aside and starts removing his gauntlets.  Tim supposes he should change out of uniform, too, but he kind of wants to stay Robin for a little while longer.

“I meant what I said earlier,” says Bruce, changing the subject.  “Both of you did very well today.  That woman likely would have died if you hadn’t been there.”

Tim scowls.  “We didn’t do anything,” he says, more bitterly than he means to.  “If it hadn’t been for Superboy-”

“Superboy?”  The word is quiet, but something about Bruce’s tone makes Tim look up at him.  The man has gone still, one gauntlet half-off.  As they watch, he starts to draw it back on.  “Superboy was there?”

“Yeah,” says Jason.  “He got rid of the cargo after that old guy said it was explosive and wouldn’t let us get near it.  He got the woman out of the truck, too.”

“I see.”  Bruce starts putting the other gauntlet back on.  “I suppose that explains the destruction of the cab. I’ll want a full report later, but I’m afraid that this means we’ll have to attend dinner in uniform.”

Alfred makes a small, disapproving noise at that, but Bruce doesn’t seem to hear it.

Tim glances up at Jason.  Jason looks as confused as he feels, so Tim opens his mouth to ask Bruce who exactly they’re going to be eating lunch with.  Before he can speak, though, Alfred says, “We’re here, sir,” and brings the car to a stop in front of a big, pleasant-looking farmhouse.

Tim closes his mouth, shrugs at Jason, and follows Bruce - _Batman_ \- out of the car.

* * *

If Batman looked out of place on a country lane, he looks _alien_ next to the old farmhouse, Jason thinks.  It doesn’t seem to faze him, though - he just lifts a black gauntleted hand and raps on the wooden part of the screen door.  Jason catches a whiff of something that smells delicious.

“Come in!” calls a woman’s voice, not even checking to see who they are first, and Batman opens the screen and gestures to them to precede him.  Jason hears the sound of Alfred driving away behind them.  

Without hesitating, Batman turns left.

Jason hangs back to whisper to Tim.  “What’s going on?”

Tim just shrugs.  “I have no idea,” he whispers back.  That makes Jason nervous.  Throughout all the weird things that have happened to them - from the first time Batman picked them up - Tim always knew what was going on.  Sometimes it drove Jason a little crazy, but at least Jason knew that _one_ of them understood what was happening.  

But now...even _Tim_ doesn’t know, which is in itself pretty weird.  Tim glances around at the neatly arranged knick-knacks and the fresh flowers on a small table in the entryway, carefully wipes his feet, and follows Bruce into the kitchen.  Jason sighs and follows Tim.

They end up in a kitchen, big and airy and full of sunlight.  Jason sniffs appreciatively.  It’s been a long time since breakfast.  

An older woman is peering into an oven, but as they come in she straightens and closes it, wiping her hands on her apron.  “Br- Batman!” she says coming forward.

“Martha,” he replies as she _kisses him on the cheek_.  

“But why the uniforms?” she asks.  “You know you don’t need to wear them _here!_ ”

Bruce clears his throat.  “I wasn’t sure if you were expecting anyone else at lunch.”

“Just Superboy.  He should be here any minute.”  

Bruce nods.  “Ah.  We’ll want to stay in uniform, then.”

She puts her hands on her hips.  “He’s a nice boy, Bruce!”  Both Tim and Bruce tense.

“He’s...young for his age,” says Bruce.  

She sighs and shakes her head, then turns to Tim and Jason with a warm smile.  “And you are?”

Tim clears his throat and holds out his hand.  “I’m Robin, and this is Bluejay.”  The woman shakes their hands in turn.  

“It’s very nice to meet you!” she says, beaming at them.  “You must remind Nightwing to come and visit as well. We miss him.”  

Jason glances at Tim, but Tim just blinks and says, “I’ll tell him, ma’am.”

“Oh please, call me Martha,” says the woman.

“Martha,” says Tim.  He hesitates a moment, then starts, “So, how do you know-”

“I’m back!” calls a voice from the other room, and the door to the kitchen swings open with a whoosh.  “Boy, that smells good.  I took that stuff to the quarry like you said-”  Superboy floats into the kitchen, still garish in his red, blue and yellow costume, and stops short in the doorway.  “Uh-” he says.  

“Superboy,” says Batman flatly, and the kid swallows.  His feet hit the floor abruptly and he takes a step back.  

“Uh, hey.  I didn’t know- um.”

Batman doesn’t say anything, but he _looms_ at the kid, and Jason kind of feels sorry for him.  “Hey,” he says.  “Thanks for your help back there.”

Superboy’s attention turns to him, and the kid grins, though he still looks nervous.  “No problem,” he says.  “I mean, that’s what we do, right?”

“Batman said that woman probably would have died without help,” says Jason, and holds out his hand.  “I’m Bluejay.”  

“Nice to meet you,” says Superboy, shaking his hand.  “I’m Superboy.  But, uh, I guess you knew that already.”  He turns to Tim and holds out his hand.

Tim’s face is totally expressionless as he accepts the proffered hand and gives it a quick shake.  “Robin.”

“Yeah?”  Superboy looks impressed.  “Cool.”

“Lunch is ready,” says Martha, and herds them, even Batman, toward a table set for six.  “Jonathan!” she calls.  “Lunch!”

Jason hesitates.  He doesn’t like to leave Tim alone in weird situations, but Bruce is there, and Superboy seems like a good guy, and Martha seems nice enough, so when he doesn’t sit down right away and she says, “Did you need something, dear?” he nods and quietly asks where the bathroom is.  “Down the hall and to the left,” she says with a smile, and for a brief moment she somehow reminds him of Rosa.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and adds, “Be right back.”

After he does his business - which is kind of a pain in tights, there’s gotta be a better way - and he’s heading back to the kitchen, something catches Jason’s eye that makes him stop short in the middle of the hallway.

The wall is lined with photos on either side.  Jason turns and looks more closely at them.  Most of them are of a dark-haired boy with younger versions of Jonathan and Martha.  The boy grins out at the camera, his expressions seeming to range between a bright grin and wide-eyed delight.

Slowly, Jason turns back to the first photo that jumped out at him.  In this one the boy’s grown up, and his face is...familiar.

Jonathan comes down the stairs and into the hallway.  He stops next to Jason, looking at the photo.  “That’s our son, Clark,” he says.

Jason just stands there gawking.  Finally he manages to blurt out, “You’re Superman’s _parents_?”

He’d known the reporter from Kansas gig was a cover, but he hadn’t really thought it was _more_ than that.

Jonathan looks surprised, then chuckles.  “Batman didn’t tell you?”

“No!  He didn’t tell us anything!”

“Now isn’t that just like him,” says Jonathan, shaking his head.  “Come on, let’s have some lunch.  Trust me, you don’t want to miss Martha’s meatloaf.”

Jason follows Jonathan into the kitchen, still feeling stunned, when something else occurs to him.  This is probably the first time he’s figured something out before _Tim_.

He feels his mouth stretch into a grin as he takes his seat at the table.  

Tim is sitting there stiffly, not making eye contact with anyone but occasionally darting a glance over to Batman. He looks as awkward as Jason's ever seen him.

"So how do you get to be Robin?" Superboy is asking as he forks mashed potatoes onto Tim's plate. Way more than Tim is ever likely to eat, so Jay will just have to steal some so they won't go to waste. "You Batman's kids, or..."

"That's confidential," Tim says, in his weird, flat "Robin" voice. Jason snorts and plops down next to him, letting the side of his calf press casually against Tim's leg. It feels good, with the tights. Almost as good as skin.

As he's loading up his plate, he leans over casually to grab a roll from the basket, watching Tim from the corner of his eye, “Thanks for having us to lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Kent,” and feels a warm glow of satisfaction when Tim drops his fork with a clatter.

“You’re quite welcome, Bluejay,” says Martha, unfazed.  “Please, do call us Martha and Jonathan.”

Jason just nods and smiles and takes a bite.

It _is_ good meatloaf.


End file.
